


Avez-vous Faim?

by frankcastlesfemfeb (Deathtouch)



Category: Black Widow (Comics), Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel (Movies), Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: France (Country), French Cafe, Gen, Romanticism, Sexual Identity, Short & Sweet, Sweet, chocolate cake
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-12
Updated: 2015-11-12
Packaged: 2018-05-01 06:02:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5194898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deathtouch/pseuds/frankcastlesfemfeb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Femfeb 2014 | Drabble<br/><i>anonymous asked:</i> natasha, maybe? helloo</p>
            </blockquote>





	Avez-vous Faim?

**Author's Note:**

> unbeta'd! all mistakes are my own.

Some days, Natasha couldn’t tell if her thoughts were her own.

Her mind, her personality, her body; all of it had been reprogrammed, rewritten, changed and changed again. Always by other people.

She had mostly gotten passed the fact that she had never been her own person, and never organically would be. The key word in that sentence being “mostly”, because no one really gets passed that.

She made preferences, and she learned her own taste, and she became a person. A real person. Her own person.

Some days she was perfectly comfortable in her own skin, and other days she couldn’t make sense of anything. Did she really like dark chocolate, or was that a facet of an identity she had assumed for an op? Did she really prefer guns to knives, or was that trained into her? Were any of her thoughts her own?

She was trying to atone for things, trying to make good these days. She kept herself busy because she didn’t like to be alone with those kinds of thoughts.

Natasha’s personal missions led her all over the world, as if she hadn’t traveled the globe enough in her life time. She was passing through France this week. One job ending and another just beginning, the two overlapping and bleeding in to one another.

Her hotel for the night was the kind of place impressionists painted pictures of. Wrought iron balconies, windows with flower boxes in bloom, classic art deco architecture. Her room was on the first floor, and her window held the view of a quiet, cobbled road. She sat in the window seat with the window flung open. Across the way, not more than twenty feet, there was a cafe bustling with a lunch time crowd.

She watched patrons come and go, caught the scent of food as it was brought out to different tables. It was nice. Nice to experience this sweet slice of life.

The single waitress working had a mess of brown hair and a ruffled apron tied neatly around her waist. Her lip stick was soft coral, and Natasha couldn’t help but think of kissing her.

That was a thought she had often, about many women. Kissing them. Tasting their lips. Touching their hair. Feeling the softness of their skin. Smelling their shampoo. Getting aggressive. Groping breasts in her hands. Biting nipples. Pinning them down by the thin of their wrists.

Natasha had been forced to seduce women before, on ops and missions. As a rule she normally didn’t like to play seduction games. She was better than that. But that didn’t change the fact that it had happened, it was something she had done in the past.

She wasn’t sure if the thoughts she had now were her own or not. Did she really want this woman; this waitress? Did she really want to pin her to the bed and kiss her mouth, and taste her tongue?

They weren’t bad thoughts, they didn’t rub her the wrong way. She just didn’t know who they belonged to…

“Mademoiselle.”

Natasha had been lost in thought; usually a dangerous place to be, but when she came back to earth she was safe and sound and that was what mattered.

The waitress had crossed the street and was standing at the edge of the side walk. There was a small garden of flowers planted in the ground that kept her from walking right up to Natasha’s window but she was close enough. She was brandishing a plate with a cute dessert in the middle, all frosting and chocolate drizzle, strawberries and raspberries topping it off. “Avez-vous faim?”

“Oh. Non, non merci.” Natasha replied, waving away the dessert.

“It’s very good.” She said in English, and her accent was thick but Natasha understood her. “I see you looking at the food. Are you hungry?”

The corner of Natasha’s mouth turned up into a smile. What a sweetheart. But still, she shouldn’t just take that for free. “No, it’s okay. Thank you, but no.”

The waitress hesitated, almost disappointed. “Do you want something else?”

Natasha’s eyes flickered to the waitress’s soft lips, all perfectly pink. The thoughts ran through her head again, all the things she wanted to do to this girl. Wanted to make her sweat, and moan, and beg for more. Wanted to hold her hand and give her gentle pecks on the cheek. Natasha wanted both. She wanted all of it.

Or at least, she thought she did.

She didn’t know if those thoughts were really her own or not.

“No.” She said finally, and she allowed herself one more glance at the waitress’s lips. “No, I don’t think so.”

The waitress smiled, but it was obvious she was confused. “My English is not very good. I don’t understand. You are not sure what you think?”

“I don’t understand it either.” Natasha told her, being more honest with this woman than she had any cause to be. She leaned out the window then and took the plate from the waitress’s hands.

The waitress’s whole face lit up. “Please! Enjoy!” She said with a smile.

“Retourner au travail.” _Go back to work_ , Natasha told her, kindly. Go back before she acted on her real thoughts and leaned over the railing for a kiss.

The waitress was so pleased that Natasha had taken the dessert that she went back to waiting tables with a grin on her face the whole time.

It was endearing how happy she was.

Natasha still had to sort out where some of these thoughts had come from, but for the rest of the night she ate sweet strawberry and chocolate pie, and she watched a cute waitress work, and she enjoyed her little view into the neighborhood of this French town she was passing through… For tonight, this was who she was. A traveler, a wanderer, a girl who wanted to kiss other girls. A girl who sat in window sills. For tonight, that was good enough.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!   
> feel free to comment here or chat me up on tumblr http://frankcastles.tumblr.com/ask  
> if you have any marvel femslash suggestions, please keep me in mind next february! :)


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